Snow Covered Roads
by Alltheroads
Summary: What was supposed to be a normal hunt results in Dean losing years of his memories. Sam makes the decision to keep memories away from him in an attempt to protect him. However, when one Winchester keeps things from the other, things tend to go awry. ( Destiel, with Sam as a major character. WIP. Updates Wednesdays... usually.)
1. Chapter 1

Waking up with tubes coming out of your arm is never the best way to start the day, Dean thinks. Of Course, being a hunter, these things happen more than you'd want them to. You get your ass kicked and you wake up in a hospital a few hours (or days) later. And it sucks, but you suck it up and move on. Since days have become more precious recently, Dean is a little more than pissed that he had reckless enough to actually end up being here.

Christ, he can't even remember what he had been hunting at the time. His muscles are sore, his right arm is broken, he has a headache to end all headaches, and even though he just woke up, he feels like he hasn't slept in weeks. Slowly, Dean rises from his position to get a look around the hospital room. Nothing special really, just the standard room.

Except instead of Sam holding a coffee cup and looking like he was gonna faint if he didn't wake up soon, there's some other guy in the room, one that Dean didn't recognize. He's not used to having guests other than Sam, especially when guests looked like they were beaten up nerdy looking dudes. His lip is split, there's a tear in his jeans, blood around the knee, and from what Dean can see, his knuckles are bruised. Wherever this guy was, he was fighting, too. In a trench coat. Who the fuck fights wearing a trench coat?

When Dean catches the guy's gaze, he seems to perk up a little.

Immediately, Dean was put on edge. Underneath all those scratches and bruises, the guy seems pretty harmless. But 'seems' is a dumb word to rely on in the supernatural world. That Lilith bitch wore a little girl as a meat suit, after all. So it stands to reason that Dean braces himself for whatever attack may come. Even if he is still exhausted, and one arms is out of commission, he's gotta prepare.

Where the fuck is Sam? He thinks.

"Dean," Trench Coat says, his voice gravelly. It's not the sort of voice a guy his size should have. "You're awake."

"Uh, yeah," He says, craning his neck to see if Sam is waiting outside, for whatever reason. "Couldn't sleep forever."

Trench Coat hums to himself, nodding.

"Yes," He sounds pleased with Dean's word. But after Trench Coat keeps staring at Dean, the pleased look is quickly replaced with one of concern. "What's wrong?"

Dean scoffs. Nothing gets passed this asshole, huh? 'What's wrong?' He's strapped to a hospital bed, and there's no one to break him out of this dump. Oh, and there's this really annoying guy who Dean doesn't know, and is way too close for comfort. Whatever.

"Nothing," Dean says instead, slumping back uselessly onto the bed. He's going to kill Sam later…

He better be okay.

Trench Coat narrows his eyes at Dean, and shakes his head.

"You should know better than to lie to me,"

Dean's expression blanks. What the hell is that supposed to mean? Now he was definitely weirded out. There was something off about this guy. Did Dean get into a fight with him? Is that what happened? What the hell is he even doing here?

"If you are worried about Sam, you should just say so," Trench Coat says, surprising and alarming Dean further. How the hell does he know Sam? "Sam is at the motel, sleeping. After waiting several hours for you to wake up, I told him to sleep."

And Sam just does everything he's told, does he? How much does he know about him and Sam, anyway?

Trench Coat must have noticed the distrust in his eyes.

"Dean?" He asks. The tone of his voice is strange. Dean can't tell if he's worried or annoyed.

"I need to get outta here," Dean says, mostly to himself. He isn't going to stay here with Trench Coat longer than he has to. The only thing he need, is to get back to Sam. There isn't time to just lay around here waiting to get better. Dean's fine. Really.

"No. Sam insisted that you get 'checked out' by the doctors. I agree. Not only did you sustain a head injury, you have been out for three days," Trench Coat says firmly.

Fuck that.

"You can't tell me what to do," Dean spits back. It sounded more than a little childish, but he doesn't really give a shit at this point. Trench Coat doesn't have a say in how he gets treated. "And Sam's not here, so he can't either." 'Course making a drastic escape might be harder than he thought. It still feels like he got hit by a truck.

"Dean," Trench Coat starts to stare him down, and damn, for a scrawny looking nerd, he sure can hold his own in a staring contest. "You will be able to leave once the doctors deem you well enough to do so."

Dean glares at Trench Coat. He obviously isn't going to help any. Sam might, though, if he complains enough.

"Yeah, whatever," He isn't attacking, isn't calling the Feds, or the police, so odds are he doesn't know who Dean and Sam are. Or: he does know, and he's a hunter too. Either way, it's best to keep his mouth closed, and get word from Sam. He's gotta know what's going on, right? If not, Dean could be in deep, deep shit. "Let me use your phone?" He asks, holding out his hand.

Trench Coat sighs, and reaches into his pocket. At least he knew when not to fight Dean on this. He slaps the phone in Dean's hand, but he didn't back away. Jesus, didn't this guy do anything but stare and lecture? It's like he has no idea what personal space is.

Without saying thank you, Dean starts punching in the numbers for Sam's cell. The phone doesn't even ring on the other end. It just goes directly to an automated voice message, telling him that the phone number was out of service. That's weird. Dean remembers him and Sam getting new numbers recently. Why would he change it so quickly, and when Dean was out? That's a dick move of him.

He hangs up, and starts to dial Sam's emergency number. Another fucking automated voice message. There was no way Sam would change both his numbers while he was out of it. Fingers starting to shake, he dials yet another number- this time, Bobby's.

Nothing.

What the fuck was going on? Did everyone drop off of the face of the earth?

There was no way Bobby canceled all his numbers right? He had to answer one of 'em. One of his FBI or State Marshall numbers. Any of them would do. If he's desperate enough (and he's getting there) he can call Ellen and see if she knows anything.

"Dean?"

"Shut up," Dean snaps, raising the phone to his ear again. Same deal. This is really starting to freak him out.

"Dean," Trench Coat says again. He sounds softer than he had before, almost sympathetic, which is really pissing him off. He has no idea what this is like.

The phone is suddenly taken away from him, and Dean wants nothing more than to get up and take it back, and he almost does, but his body fails him. He's stuck in this helpless position. Again.

Trench Coat dials a number and hands it to Dean. Before Dean can say anything, there is a voice at the other end of the line.

"Cas? Cas, did something happen? Everything okay?" Sam. Thank god.

"Sam? Sam, it's me," Dean says, the relief is too overwhelming to register what Sam had called him. "Everything's okay. You just gotta get me outta here, man, you know how much I hate hospitals." And there is some guy here who won't leave my god damn side.

"Yeah, alright, calm down, man." Sam says. Dean can hear that Sam is just as relieved as he is. Everything is okay. Jesus. That phone number thing really freaked him out. Someone better explain why all numbers are suddenly bunk. Maybe someone was getting close to finding Sam and Dean. It could have been an emergency. Yeah, that makes sense. Right? "I'll be there in fifteen. Think you can manage?" Sam breaks his train of thought, and it makes him smile a little.

"Shut up and get your ass over here, bitch,"

"Whatever, jerk,"

Dean hangs up and hands the phone back to Trench Coat reluctantly. There has to be some explanation for all the shit that's been going on. And since he's got some time before Sam gets here, he decides he's going to get some answers now.

"How'd you know Sam's number?" Dean asks suspiciously.

Trench Coat tilts his head and frowns.

"He gave me his number," The words are drawn out slowly, and if Dean was paying attention, he'd notice that they were laced with fear. However, he's more stuck on the idea that he and Sam almost never gave out their numbers. To anyone. Ever. And yet… Sam kinda did brush off the whole being reached by a strange number thing. That makes things even weirder.

"Why would he do that?" Dean asks himself.

This in turn makes Trench Coat frown further. It was obvious, even to Dean, that he doesn't like what he is hearing.

"In case of emergencies. You know this, Dean," He says, emphasizing his words.

But no, Dean really doesn't know that. They already have plenty of people who they can call in case of emergencies. Why the hell would they need to give this guy their numbers? Why would he be sitting here with Dean calling Sam? Holy shit… what if Sam didn't know until Webster's over here called him?

"You do know this, Dean… Don't you?"

"Look, buddy, I appreciate you giving me the phone and all that, but I have no idea why Sam would give you an emergency number. That makes no fucking sense," He says honestly, though he's kinda put off by the look on Trench Coat's face.

"Buddy." Trench Coat says, his voice far off and distant. He has this look on his face that Dean can't label, but he can tell that it's nothing positive. Dean refuses to feel bad about this. Maybe Sam and him were friends, but Dean doesn't do the whole friend thing. He doesn't trust people as openly, or as quickly. No matter how much of a puppy the person looks.

"You don't know me." Trench Coat says, more of a statement than a question.

"…No, I thought that'd be pretty obvious," It's not like he knows me, Dean thinks, trying to rationalize this guys response. Unless Sam and him have been talking about me. In which case, I'd have to kick Sam's ass.

"What do you remember?"

"Uh…" Dean should tell him to get the hell out of his room. He should tell him that it's none of his business what's going on in his life. Sending him away now might be a mistake. Just how much does this guy know about him and Sam? If he knows about the supernatural world, he might be a hunter. If he's not a hunter, then Dean should keep his eye on him until Sam comes around. To do that, he's gonna have to answer some questions, get a feel for what he knows, and what he doesn't know. "Sam was trying to get me out of a contract. Why?"

Trench Coat sighs. There's this long, uncomfortable pause, and Dean feels like he's said something wrong, or that it wasn't the answer Trench here was looking for.

"That was five years ago, Dean," He explains slowly. Trench Coat looks at Dean searchingly, and he can't fucking take it. There's no god damned way.

"That's not funny." Dean says immediately. His heart is pounding against his chest, like it always does when his fate comes to mind. Even toying with the idea that he some how managed to escape his deal wasn't in the forefront of his mind. This guy was out of his fucking mind if he thought that, even for a moment, Dean would believe him.

Dean waited for the guy to double over, to slap his knee and tell him how he had just got him. It's all supposed to be a big god damned joke, it's got to be. Trench Coat didn't seem to budge on the subject, though. He's got a great poker face. At least, that's what Dean has to hope for at this point. That it's all just a lie.

"That did not happen five years ago," He reasserts. "Don't you dare pull this shit on me."

Still, the man in the trench coat did not budge on the subject.

"Dean, I know that this might be difficult for you to believe, but we have known each other for years. We are…" The man paused, and looked away. Even though his perception is sorta skewed due to his anger, Dean could tell that he was conflicted about something. "Friends."

"Horseshit. I woulda remembered you." It's not like Dean has a lot of friends to remember, anyway. One who had a giant stick up his ass definitely would have been memorable.

"Unless something prevented you from doing so. In this case: retrograde amnesia," The longer this conversation went on, the more conflicted and emotional the man seemed to become. "Dean, the things that have happened in the past few years are complicated. Perhaps I should wait for Sam to get here. You would be more… comfortable with him explaining all the recent events."

The dark vibes that the man was giving off seemed to permeate in the air, and it made things even more uncomfortable than Dean wanted them to be. He just wanted the truth, upfront. But yeah, he was right. It's better that he hears it from Sam than some stranger.

There's a few moments of silence. Maybe a few minutes. Dean is still waiting for that punch line, but not so much from the Trench Coat guy. Trench Coat has taken it upon himself to make things weirder by not moving away at all. He just sort of… stood there, like he was watching over Dean, making sure that he wasn't going to run away. It was unsettling, and Dean had half a mind to tell him to fuck off when Sam came rushing in through the door.

"Sam, can you tell this guy that-"

"Sam, I believe that Dean is suffering from amnesia, and doesn't remember anything from 2008 on."

The fucking asshole cut him off. Again, Dean planned on telling him to go screw himself when he noticed something. Sam was fuckin' Rapunzel.

"Dude, what's up with the hair?"

Sam's face went from confused to in shock. Behind his eyes though, Dean saw something that wasn't there the day before. It's exhaustion. It's years and years of pain that he shouldn't have had to suffer, but did. It's wisdom from carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. It's age.

Under Sam's scrutinizing gaze, Dean feels exposed, almost as much as Trench Coat made him feel.

"You think it's 2008?"

Dean's heart sinks. Holy shit. Sam is good at playing games, but not that good. And he knows that his brother would never, ever joke about something like this. It would be too over the top.

"Sammy, you tellin' me it's not 2008? 'Cause I'm pretty sure it's not possible for years to have passed." He hints at the deal, and it sucks bringing it up, but it's the only proof he has at the moment.

"It's 2013," Sam says.

Now Dean starts to worry. He looks back from his brother to the stranger, waiting for something, anything to happen other than this silence. It's suffocating him, being between two people who know more about what's going on than he does.

"No way. No, c'mon, we tried everything, there's no way-"

"Cas, can I talk to you outside for a minute, please?"

Oh. So then Trench Coat was Cas.

Cas frowns deeply and cocks his head to the side.

"Sam, I told Dean that you should tell him what he's forgotten."

"Just a minute. Please," Dean scowls when Sam looks back at him. If he really does have amnesia (what the hell? It's not like he's in an episode of Dr. Sexy. Things like this don't actually happen.), what is Sam waiting for? Why wouldn't someone just explain what's going on? To his frustration, Cas complies, and follows Sam outside the room.

Dean's head hits the pillow. He gets the feeling that the fun hasn't even started yet.

* * *

This is not something that Castiel has ever anticipated. Especially after the more recent events, he thought that things were going to get easier. Now, standing outside of Dean's hospital room, he feels more helpless than he has in a long time. However bad he was at comforting Dean beforehand has changed drastically now. Dean would not even let him close to his side. All those years of trust. Everything they've been through together. It's all gone now.

Sam sends a doctor to go talk to Dean and figure out how much damage has been done, he returns to Castiel's side.

Sam does not have it easy, eother. Explaining to Dean about all the horrors they have seen a second time will be an awful experience. Castiel wishes that he still had his grace, so that he could spare Dean the pain..

"So, what exactly does Dean remember? Did he tell you?" Sam asks.

Castiel sighs.

"The last thing he recalls is the two of you hunting a demon to get out of his deal," He gives Sam a meaningful look. "He believes that he is going to hell."

The moment that follows is heavy and uncomfortable. Those were the days that Castiel wasn't yet in the Winchester's life. At least visibly. What's surprising to Castiel, is that Sam doesn't look as devastated as Castiel feels. Years of Dean's memory gone, and he isn't upset?

"Listen, Cas," Sam shifts his weight from one long leg to the other, and crosses his arms. "Uh, what do you think about…" He clears his throat. It is apparent to Castiel that Sam is avoiding asking the question. He waits for Sam to finish patiently. Perhaps the situation is more stressful on the younger brother than he thought. "What if we don't tell Dean everything that's happened?"

The Winchesters have had some pretty bad ideas before, but this one strikes Castiel as particularly stupid. How can he let Sam keep information from Dean?

"Sam, that's not a good idea. You should know that by now. From personal experience, no less." Whenever one Winchester kept things from the other, things went wrong. It is well within Dean's right to know what's happened in his own life. He must know, or how will they be able to tell him anything at all? Leaving chunks of a story out will only make it more suspicious, and Dean will notice the holes in his past. On a more selfish note, he wants Dean to remember so that Dean could trust him again. They need trust, for when they hunt down whatever is left in the world.

"Yeah, but, think about it! Dean doesn't remember hell. It's like he never went. Do you have any idea-" Sam lets out a harsh breath. "And not only that, but he's been carrying all this crap for years. If I can somehow come up with an explanation as to why he's not currently rotting in hell, can you imagine how much stress he'll let go?" Castiel is now on the opposite end of the dreaded 'puppy eyes'. "For once, Dean doesn't have to think about everything, or be guilty about anything. Things have gotten better since we closed the gates… But with a clean slate-"

"His slate is far from clean. Even before hell, Sam-"

"Yeah, whatever. He could be happy. That's what's important. Right?"

It wasn't the best argument. Still, Castiel thinks back to all the tragedies that have occurred. It's not just hell that Dean has forgotten. There are deaths that he has blamed himself for, events that he couldn't have helped, and so many nightmares.

There were good times, too, Castiel thinks forlornly. And times that have yet to be played out. He looks back into Dean's room and watches how the man he has hunted with for several months now is throwing a temper tantrum as the doctor pokes and prods at him.

Would Dean believe him if Castiel was the one to tell him about all the horrors? Not likely. Not over his own brother. Either Castiel has to go along with Sam's plan, or be the one to hurt Dean with the truth. Is it possible for a heart to hurt due to emotional pain?

"You cannot hide the truth from him forever, Sam. One day soon, something will slip. Just moments before he called you, he tried to contact Bobby. How long do you think before it happens again? How long before he wonders about all of his deceased friends?" Castiel questions, slowly turning to look back at Sam. "What happens if he starts to remember on his own?"

"I know! I know, okay? I already thought about that. But just… god, just a few days. Please. That's all I'm asking," He pleads. "And even if we do end up telling Dean about everything… we can't do it all at once. We can't."

There, Castiel can see where Sam has a point.

"Let's just… get him through this, first. Once I know everything else is okay with him, we'll take him back to my…" He stops. Castiel supposes that Sam almost suggested that they bring Dean to his house to recover. So he hasn't thought about everything. Sam purses his lips before speaking again. "Well, I'll figure it out. Will you do it though? Will you keep everything to yourself?"

Castiel sighs again. He doesn't want to keep it to himself. It feels wrong to lie. The trust that is now gone along with Dean's memories would be hurt if he were to remember. Dean might never trust him again. After all they've been through, Castiel wouldn't have guessed that this would be his greatest challenge.

"Yes. For now," He says. "But we have to tell him soon, Sam. It isn't right to conceal his past from him."

Sam looks away, ashamed, but satisfied.

Now they just have to come up with a convincing lie for everything that's happened.

* * *

An experiment. I would like some feedback on this please!


	2. Chapter 2

So without any real explanation, Sam and Cas just leave him in the hospital. The doctors want to observe him, or something, so he gets to stick around for another night. He can't believe that they expect him to cope in this new time all by himself. It kinda just makes him feel more out of place than usual. He doesn't get why Sam didn't just bust him out, like they usually do. Maybe more has changed than he initially though. After all, it's been years.

Years. Yeah, that word is echoing in his head. He was only supposed to have a month left, so that leaves the most obvious question: why isn't he rotting in Hell right now? After all the digging and searching Sam did, he was convinced that there was nothing that could keep him out of the fiery depths.

Dean gets off his bed and stumbles to the bathroom. He looks in the mirror and shit, he has grown older. Weird. There are lines by his eyes, and the lines on his forehead, while not prominent, are there too. He laughs humorlessly. The truth is, he never really planned on getting this old. His precious youth is gone. What is he, 30 something? Jesus.

Then something that's not his old age catches his eye.

When Dean was about 16, 17, he was on a hunt with his Dad. It was one of his first, and though he was desperate not to mess up and impress dear old Dad, he did. There was a scar, nothing really noticeable unless you knew where to look, right below his ear. Except it doesn't matter how hard you look because it's not there anymore. He squints, and leans in close to the mirror, using his good arm to lean against the wall. It's definitely not there. But there is a new scar peaking out from under his borrowed hospital shirt where his shoulder is.

He pushes away from the wall, and carefully tugs his collar over the top of his shoulder. There was supposed to be another scar that he got there from a hunt a year or two (or, nine, he guesses) back, and that's gone as well. More than a little perplexed, he pulls up his shirt from the bottom to get a good look at his chest. Old scars are gone, and new ones are in their place. What the hell? Scars can fade, sure, but they don't just fucking disappear like that.

Seriously though, what the hell? He drops his shirt and stares back at the incredulous expression in the mirror. Obviously Sam hasn't told him anything. He left kinda in a rush, as if something else was way more important than his brain damaged brother. Shouldn't he have mentioned that he might be a little weirded out by his own body? (On second thought, he'd rather not receive a speech too much like the puberty one he had to give Sam when he was a kid.)

There's a little bit of what looks like a burn just out of sight on the side of his shoulder. Okay then. He lifts his sleeve and sucks in a breath. Holy shit. Holy shit. Who, or what, did that? The burn- what he thought was just going to be a little thing is really a huge burn, taking up a whole chunk of his shoulder. That's not what's freaking him out, though.

It's in the shape of a fucking hand.

He's got to calm down. Whatever did that is probably dead. Probably died years ago, in the haze of hundreds of other creeps and shadows that he and his brother took out. It's fine.

No, fuck that. It's not fine. Nothing he has ever heard of burns with their hands, not like that. He touches the soft, pink skin. Why couldn't Sam just stay for two minutes? And why did he take that weird guy with him? Are they seriously friends with that guy? Cas. There has definitely got to be a story that comes with that trench coat. And Dean is not going to shut up about it until he finds out what.

Reluctantly, he limps back to his shitty hospital bed and lies down. There are way too many thoughts racing back and forth in his head. Too many questions. He has the urge to just pick up the damn phone, wake his brother up, and demand the answers that he has the right to know. Except he doesn't know Sam's number.

Dean has never not known Sam's number, and that's another thing on his list of 'really uncomfortable shit'. It takes a long time for him to fall asleep, and surprise, surprise- he wakes up just a few hours later.

"Shouldn't they be givin' me drugs to help me sleep?" He asks aloud. But like every other question he's been asking, there's no answer.

The wait for Sam to show up is fucking torturous, so he puts the T.V. on. He smiles when one of his favorite shows (Dr. Sexy), is on. One good thing about being an amnesiac, he realizes thirty seconds into the episode, is that there are five whole seasons he doesn't remember, and gets to discover them all over again.

Shit has really changed since he last remembered. Those are definitely a new pair of cowboy boots.

Just when shit is about to go down between Dr. Sexy and Paige, the sexy neurologist, Sam walks in. With Cas.

Dean does nothing to hide his distaste and annoyance. Maybe Sam is the one who has a head injury, 'cause there's no way he wants someone he doesn't know hangin' around here.

"Sam-" He starts, a warning in his voice.

"He's a friend. Your best friend, actually," Sam's brother explains. Dean looks this guy over. He doesn't look much better than yesterday. Cas looks like he didn't get any sleep, and his clothes are just as wrinkled as they were yesterday, albeit a lot cleaner.

"Really," He deadpans. "How'd we meet?"

And if Dean thought that shit was weird before, it's definitely a lot weirder now. Cas looks helplessly over to Sam, like he's not allowed to say anything to Dean without permission.

Sam doens't even look at Cas, just shrugs it off. "I wasn't there," And yeah, that doesn't explain shit. If he and Cas are such good friends, then he shouldn't have any problem explaining how they met.

"Come on, I got your stuff." Sam tosses Dean a duffel bag, and Dean paws through it. A worn plaid shirt he doesn't recognize, a softened pair of jeans he miraculously still has, some socks… but where's- "Dude, where's my amulet?"

Again, there's this awkward silence. Dean is quickly growing tired of these worried faces. "Sam," His voice has that warning in it, but Sam doesn't say anything this time. "Where's my amulet?" Don't tell me I was dumb enough to lose it, He thinks, almost panicked. No. He's had that since he was a kid. It's not lost. Maybe Sam forgot it, or it's in the car. It can't be gone.

When there's still no answer, Dean just gets up, and storms to the bathroom. This can't go on for long. Eventually, someone is going to have to tell him something.

When the door is closed behind him, Dean takes a breath, and goes through the duffel bag one more time. You know, just in case. It's kind of dumb, but he's hoping that Sam and Cas are just messing around with him. No go. There's just some crumbs in the corner and a bunch of lint. Great. He huffs. So the amulet is probably gone. That makes him feel stupidly emotional. How the fuck could it be gone? That's one of the few possessions that he really cared about.

He's had all this pent up emotion of hopelessness and frustration ever since he made the deal with that crossroads bitch. Now he's years in the future with that same feeling at the bottom of his gut. Sammy is gonna be watching him, and treating him like he's a kid 'cause of this amnesia bullshit. Well, Dean's not made of glass. He can handle whatever truths his brother his holding back.

After that moment of collecting his thoughts and composure, Dean gets dressed.

The best way to get answers is to get one of them alone, he decides. That's his plan of attack. Surprisingly enough, he thinks it'll be easier to get information out of Cas. The way he looks at Sam whenever he asks a question- yeah, he wants to talk. But Dean gets the feeling that Sam said something to him. If that's the case, he and Sam are gonna have a good talk about that.

Once he's done, he leaves the bathroom, a scowl still plastered across his face. Just 'cause he figured out what he was going to do does not mean he feels much better about being lied to. He brushes past both Sam and Cas, muttering, "Let's get outta here already," and limps as fast as he can towards the exit.

Like always, they skip the checking out part, not wanting to draw attention with fake I.D.s, or be bombarded with some more useless questions on their current condition. At least Sam hasn't changed in that aspect.

That first rush of fresh air is nice. The cool air in his lungs helps calm him down, keeps him grounded. Five years doesn't look so different from here. Looks kinda the same, with the random bunch of people racing in and out, and being in a town he doesn't recognize. No, this is something real familiar.

Better yet, he can spot his baby in the parking lot. He grins and doesn't even bother checking both ways before speed walking towards her. When he gets to his car, he rubs his hand over the hood. Now this is quite a fucking sight. His baby- his Impala has done the best thing for him by staying the same. Yeah, he can tell he's had to rebuild her a time or two (Dean can recognize his own god like handiwork on his baby), but she just looks like she did when he saw her last.

The moment is kinda ruined when Sammy and Cas catch up. Looks like the doctors caught them after all. He smirks at the thought. Karma is fucking awesome sometimes.

Until Cas is the one pulling the Impala's car keys out of his pocket. Nope. Dean doesn't care if he has amnesia or that he has no idea what their relationship was like before just a couple days ago. That's bullshit. No one gets to hold his keys. No one. (Besides Sam, but you know. Duh.) He walks up to him, and snatches the keys away, leaving Cas looking surprised.

Then blank. His entire expression just melts off, and if Dean's not wrong, he's standing a little taller. There's only this determined look in his eye. Dean halfway recognizes that expression, that stance. He's seen it in a soldier before. In himself. He shakes it off. Soldier or whatever, he's still an asshole.

"These?" He jingles the keys in front of Cas' face. "These stay with me. Got it?"

Cas nods once, and Dean can't help but roll his eyes. What, has the cat got his tongue today? Best friends. Right.

Dean unlocks the door, but then is stopped by Sam.

"No way are you driving with only one arm. At least, not today," Sam is really begging to get punched in the face right now.

"Dude, what the hell? I've driven with one arm before."

"Not the left." Sam points out.

They have this silent stand off before Dean practically throws the keys at Sam. Maybe the Impala isn't quite the same after all.

* * *

The doctors had explained that Dean's memories might come back, but they might not. The human brain is a tricky thing. Smells, he was told, are the most powerful thing when it comes to memory. The littlest thing could trigger one, or even more. Behind the wheel of the Impala, Sam feels like he's driving on a minefield. His hands grip the steering wheel hard. Anything in here can set Dean off. Even just one memory can completely fuck over his entire idea to keep Dean's past locked safely away. Small things that might be missing on the dash, or the few coins in the cup holder. He feels stupid for having not thought about the amulet. Now that the thing's back in his mind, well… He's wondering what small moments escape his own memory.

For the past couple of years it had just been one big event after big event. There wasn't any room in his mind to remember pulling the car over and watch the stars. No. The details of their lives had escaped him, too. There's just too much to take it in all in one go. He's right to not tell Dean, at least not at the hospital.

There's got to be a strategy, a right way to do this. It'd be easier if there were actual documents, or suggestions to help with this. On amnesia, there's just suggestions on helping someone remember.

Ever since Castiel started hunting with Dean, things have been going pretty well for everyone. Sam was able to leave the life he never wanted to be a part of, Dean and Cas got to do their own thing, and the world that used to be full of demons is now demon free. So… If he doesn't explain everything the right way, he's going to mess it all up. If Sam had the choice, he wouldn't tell Dean at all. But that's just not ethical. Not possible, either.

He breathes in slowly, and tries to focus on the road. Already, he's been messing things up. He hasn't planned as well as he should have, and Castiel- well, he's being Castiel. The guy is usually super truthful and blunt. This has to be especially hard for him. Sam just feels so selfish asking him to keep everything a secret. He hasn't even really apologized.

Castiel has just been staring out the window, his head leaning against the glass. It's very different from how he used to sit in the car, with his back straight, his hands on his knees, looking forward. Now his breath fogs up the mirror, and his left arm is across his lap, as if to protect himself. It's very… human. He hasn't said a word since yesterday, outside of Dean's hospital room.

It's got to be just as hard for Castiel as it is for Sam. Probably more so. Dean just lost a few years, so his relationship with Sam didn't completely disappear. So Sam really has to find a quick, efficient way to tell Dean. It's important. He has to. Even if the past is a total shit hole.

…But would it really be so bad? Sam just can't help but think about everything. About Dean being in hell for forty years. As if that wasn't enough, he was stuck in Purgatory for a year. Plus all the deaths. They just couldn't catch a break, could they? Just constantly running into deaths of a loved one. Or even just someone they were trying to protect. Years of that too. There's blood caked on everyone's hands, but the Winchester's seem to be drowning in it.

The one thing that he absolutely dreads to tell his brother the most is about Bobby. To them, Bobby was sort of the last bit of family they had left. Dean was in such bad shape right before he went to hell, thinking that at least it was the end, at least he didn't have to face it anymore. How is he going to take hearing any of it? Even the deaths that he wasn't there for… Sam has a feeling that Dean is going to feel them all the same.

Sam feels so fucking overwhelmed just thinking about what his next move should be. Should he ask for help? No, this is on him. Dean is his brother, so he's going to take care of him. That's the point of this whole thing anyway.

But is it? Is it really altruism that drives this? He wonders. Is this for his brother… or for him?

After all, Dean didn't just forger about hell, the deaths, and all the crap that came with it. He forgot the shit that Sam did, too. Suddenly, Sam's slate is clean. He didn't start the apocalypse. He didn't choose Ruby over Dean. He didn't get hooked on demon blood. He didn't rot in hell after saying 'yes' to fucking Satan. He was never soulless. And he never left his brother to rot in Purgatory.

He's still Sam- but without all the baggage, and he can't help but wonder if that's what's truly driving him to keep everything hush-hush. Guilt is in his every movement, but it's concealed to Dean. After all the lying he's done throughout the years… this younger Dean can't know how to read him as well. That might be beneficial on Sam's side, even if part of him wants to get caught.

Explaining everything would release all this guilt, all this tension. But then Sam looks to his right and he realizes that no, he's doing the right thing. This is for Dean.

Telling Dean everything when he could be happy is the selfish thing to do, not keep everything from him. Yeah, he's going to need to do some explaining, and eventually he has to tell him about Bobby, Ellen, and Jo. But why does he have to know about Hell? About Purgatory? He doesn't need to know. Castiel has always been there for Dean, and once Dean sees that now, then those two will work whatever they have out. It's not going to be so hard, he was just panicking. Everything is going to be okay. Maybe better than. He just hopes that his brother doesn't recover from his amnesia. At least for a little while.

* * *

The car ride lasts for hours. It wouldn't be so bad if Sam would just put a different radio station on. (Seriously? He doesn't get to drive or pick the music? This is serious, serious bullshit.) No one was talking either. It kind of adds on to the feeling that people aren't saying shit to him on purpose, and that's really irritating.

Stick to the plan, he thinks. Just gotta talk to one of 'em. Which ever comes first. . He can feel Cas' eyes on the back of his neck. Why doesn't the bastard just say something? Talk about some funny stories, or wild adventures they got into together. If Dean is going to be best friends with anyone, they better have some stories about him. But nope. In place of all those fun adventures they might have had, Cas prefers crazy creepy staring. How he can do that for hours on end, Dean doesn't know. He turns around at some point and snaps, "Will you quit it?"

The only answer he gets is an alien like head tilt. "Quit what?"

Dean just has to roll his eyes at that response. He has to. Cas can't not know that it's rude to stare at someone. Dean must have complained about it at some point in this weird ass relationship, right? Guess that's another question he's going to have to ask later. If he's lucky, he'll actually get an answer. Or an acknowledgment.

He slumps back down in his seat and very nearly prays for the ride to end sooner. That, or to be hit by a truck. The only thing that's entertaining him now is the watching the trees rush past his window into a green blur. So yeah, not that interesting. Even though Cas didn't really say anything, he'd rather have dumb conversations than continue this uncomfortable silence. It's really pissing him off that Sam is avoiding conversation and pretending that everything is alright.

It's been almost a day since he's woken up, and he knows that Sam is keeping shit from him, but what he can't figure out is why. Why would his brother want to keep anything from him, especially since he's made it this far? Fuck, wouldn't he want to cheer about the fact that he isn't in hell? Tell the whole god damned story in one breath?

Maybe not. He sighs, and lets his head hit the window. Whatever. It's not the first time Sam's lied about something anyway.

Dean hopes it's because they have Cas hanging around. If Cas is making things awkward, then okay, he can't blame Sam for putting everything off until later. And so the hours pass, and the awkward vibes continue to flow.

It's late by the time Sam pulls up in front of… a hole. What the fuck.

"Sam. This is the shittiest motel you've ever picked," He jokes, though really, this has to be the worst place to camp out. Unless his brother is just tired and wants to take a break. Wuss. He never could drive as long as Dean could. Thinking about that, he can't help but smirk.

"Yeah? Let's see what you say when you see the inside," Sam says cryptically. He smiles, and gets out of the car. At first, Dean thinks it's just an elaborate prank, but when Sam strides over to the entrance, and opens it up, he realizes that he's not kidding. Cas is right behind Sam, so he guesses that means that he has no choice but to follow.

Dean gets out of the car, and cautiously walks towards the entrance.

At first, it's dark, and sort of dank. Dean is not impressed by the crappy motel, but then Sam leads him through the tunnel, and, "Whoa," He breathes. Then, he takes a good long gander. It's like a bunker. How the hell did Sam score this? It gets better as he passes through the corridors. It looks like an actual fucking home. All the soft lights against spines of old books and the smell of dust. And there's computers too. Dean can tell that stuff has just recently been added. "What is this place?" He asks, looking over to Sam.

Sam smiles wider, and Dean knows that he's about to learn something. "This is where the Men of Letters- a secret society- kept all their information on the supernatural. Kind of like the Library of Alexandria, but cooler."

Dean whistles. "No shit?" There are shelves of books, and on the table, Dean can see that Sam has a nice little set up with his high tech computer, a lit lamp, and a cup that probably has some coffee in it still. "How the hell did you find this?"

"Uh, I didn't. Turns out…" He pauses. "Turns out we're legacies of the Men of Letters. Our grandfather was supposed to be one, but then he ended up time traveling to the future. And then… we sort of met the Men of Letters and they gave us the key."

Stopping in his tracks, he turns to look at Sam. "Our grandfather traveled to the future?" Holy shit. How come Sam gets to remember all the fun stuff? "Well, where is he?" It'd be cool to meet the guy, Dean supposes. Seeing a family member is always kind of a miracle.

Sam opens his mouth, then sighs. A great, long sigh. Although Dean can already see where the conversation was going to go, he wasn't prepared to hear: "He died."

Dean looks away and shakes his head. Of course he's dead. Why the hell would someone in the Winchester family ever live? It would ruin the pattern. "So which Grandpa was it?" Honestly, he can probably figure it out on his own, but he's too damned tired to think who would most likely bite the dust.

"Uh, Dad's Dad, actually."

That's another 'oh shit' moment. Ever since they were kids, Dad complained about how he hated his old man, how he left when he was only a kid. Now he's never gonna know that his shit father actually just teleported himself into the future. Fucking typical. All he can say to that is, "That sucks." If he was more poetic, or was more open about shit, he'd say something about how he wished it never happened, how if maybe their Dad had a father, shit woulda been different.

There's no real use about moaning about the woulda-coulda-shouldas, though. It just gives everyone a headache, 'specially in this job.

At some point since they've arrived, Cas has wandered away, to whatever secret crevice this place has. It might not be according to his plan, but Dean's not exactly a patient person. Not when he has questions, anyway.

"Speaking of the family curse," He starts, and already, he can see that Sam does not want to talk about this. His brother looks like he just wants to walk away. Sam's wearing a pretty good mask, though. He looks like he wants to appear calm and collected. "How come I'm not in hell? I only had a few weeks left." That's all he wants to know. He wants to know that his brother didn't do something monumentally stupid, like sell his own soul. Or was he working with Ruby? Did she find a way to get him out of the deal after all?

What happened to that blond bitch anyway?

"An angel." Dean blinks. Is that supposed to be an answer, or a punchline? "No, seriously, an angel." Sam insists. This time, Dean can't help but laugh and shake his head. He thought that he and Sam had this discussion before.

"Right, an angel prevented me from going to hell. That's real creative, Sammy." Sam looks serious, and that really bothers him. Why the fuck wouldn't he remember an angel?

"I'm serious. You ah- you might have noticed that you've got this scar on your shoulder…" He trails off, as if waiting for Dean to check it out, but Dean knows exactly what he's talking about. There's something weird about that scar, and he doesn't want Sam to see it. Even if he already has. "That's how, you know? The angel branded you, and stopped the deal. It was… kind of amazing."

No matter what Sam says… it's got to be total bullshit. Angels don't exist. Oh, and a scar doesn't prove shit. "You really expect me to believe that?"

Sam looks almost surprised. "If not, you can always just talk to Castiel." Shit, that's his full name? Poor bastard. "He used to be an angel."

"Pffft. Right. I'm guessing there's no real solid proof of that." Nothing but his scar. Castiel's hand won't just…fit over it, will it? That's really creepy to think about. Invasive, even.

Sam shrugs, like it's not a big fucking deal. "Just talk to him. He knows you better than you think," Yup, that's really creepy. "Anyway, let me show you your room. You decorated it, so you should like it."

Out of everything he's just heard, having his own room might just be the most unbelievable. He follows after Sam, unable to keep his eyes from the decorated walls. This place just looks so secure. Kind of a great place to crash.

It's even better when Sam opens the door to his room. His. And the weird part is, he can tell that it's his room. There's a whole wall of weapons, but on the desk, there's a picture of everyone. Bobby, his Mom, his Dad. It makes him smile. Oh, and the bed? He sits his ass down on that right away.

"This is memory foam," He says. It's probably the most comfortable bed he's ever sat on- and he won't have to share it (though it's big enough if he ever wants to bring some company). "Dude…" Sam smiles, like he's proud of himself. Asshat- Dean's the one who put this together, right? So he gets the credit.

"Alright… well. I'm gonna go check on Cas. See what he's up to." Sam taps the doorway, then leaves before Dean gets a chance to say anything.

He sighs, and runs a hand over the covers. It's weird. Dean keeps finding himself left alone, with little to no explanation on anything. He digs into his pocket and pulls out his cell phone, and he dials Bobby's number. It's one of his under cover numbers, something only select few people know. So he wants to punch a wall when he discovers that has been disconnected, too.

It's hard to keep the dark thoughts away, the idea that something might have happened to Bobby. Dean can't accept that, though. There's an explanation, he just needs to find it. He'll focus on that tomorrow. And since he's here, in the mother of all supernatural information, he might as well read up on angels, too. If they're real, he should find something, and a reason why Castiel would want to keep him out of hell. If not… well, that means that Sam is probably lying about other stuff as well.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel sits on his bed, and looks at the blank wall in front of him. The past day has felt like a bad joke that he doesn't understand. Dean does not remember him. Sam does not want him to tell Dean anything, supposedly for Dean's benefit.

It's difficult living in the bunker, just a few feet away from Dean, knowing that his closest friend is ignorant to such important events. He believes what Sam is doing is cruel and unnecessary. Eventually, Dean will discover that his brother (and Castiel) have been keeping secrets.

What then? Dean does not trust him now. If he finds out on his own, Castiel assumes that he will never be able to have a friendship with Dean again. Castiel will have to find a new place to live, and, if worst comes to worst, find a new occupation. After centuries of living, Castiel only knows how to do so many things. All the people he used to call brothers are gone forever. The Winchesters… this life… it's all he has.

He sighs and looks around his room. It's not unlike Sam and Dean's in shape and size, but it's completely his own. The bed is small, practical. There's a desk, and there are papers and books stacked orderly upon it. His closet is filled with comfortable black shirts, a few button ups, and worn plaids they found at a Salvation Army. At the bottom, there's a plastic bin filled with a few jeans, and a nice pair of slacks. His shoes are in order. There's no pictures. It's not like angels are photogenic, though Castiel wishes that they were. Now he has nothing to remember his brothers and sisters by.

The only thing remaining from his days as an angel is his angel blade, and his old trench coat.

It's times like these, where he's sitting by himself on his bed that he misses his old life. Home, in Heaven. He misses his favorite part of heaven, bathed in sunlight with a kite in the sky. He misses hearing the song of his brothers, distant but comforting. He misses having nearly unlimited power, and unlimited time to use and discover it. And he misses his healing touch. If Dean's injury had only happened two months before, then Castiel could have healed him.

He wonders what Sam would've had to say about that. Would he be angry? Would he make the same argument, saying that Dean would be better off not knowing what has happened? Castiel honestly doesn't know.

And… he's not sure that Sam is wrong. It feels wrong, that's true enough, but the younger Winchester has a point. Dean doesn't have the memories of endless torture and torturing in Hell.

But Castiel is human now. His emotions seem to be amplified, as does the pain. And sins… It's as if it's natural to commit the sins, to become them. Castiel wants. He wants to help Dean remember, wants Dean to be by his side on another hunt again. It seems so easy, to just walk over to that other room and talk to Dean, tell him everything.

Dean would not believe him now. He didn't trust Castiel for almost a year when they first met. Then, he had proof as to what he was, what he was doing. His word just isn't enough anymore. Especially if Sam is telling him something different.

Dean's amnesia has caused much conflict in the way he thinks about things. He closes his eyes, and he prays, he prays for answers from beyond that closed gate. A whispered answer from the angels. Maybe even God.

"What do I do?" He mutters.

But as always, there's silence. Do the angels even hear prayers anymore? So what if they did. There's probably nothing they could do, and if there was, they wouldn't do it. He remembers the screams of the angels as the heavenly gates closed on them. It was chaos fueled by rage. Castiel is the last being that they would think to help. If only the gates didn't have to close on them as well as the demons. Unfortunately, there has to be a balance.

Not that Castiel would have gone back to them if that had been the case. No, Castiel does not regret the decision to fall. Even with all the pain, humanity is worth it. He thinks of how he and Dean were before and smiles to himself. Definitely worth it.

This too shall pass, he realizes. One day Sam will know that it is not good to hide Dean from his past. Or Dean will remember on his own. Castiel entertains the idea he will be the one to tell Dean everything. No matter how, Dean will know, and things will steadily go back to normal. Perhaps… perhaps if/when Dean remembers, they can finally talk about that last hunt and what happened.

He gets up from his bed, and walks quietly, intending on getting a midnight snack. At this hour, he would have thought that Dean and Sam would be asleep, but he catches a light coming from the main room. It's Dean. He's reading.

It's not very often that he's seen Dean study like this. From the corner, Castiel watches for a few minutes. Dean slowly turns the pages, absorbs the information. If Castiel was an angel, he would be able to see so much more than that. He misses that too. That doesn't make the act any less enjoyable.

Finally, he sees Dean's back tense. Castiel knows that he's going to turn around, and that he's not going to be happy what he sees.

What he didn't predict was how unhappy Dean was going to look. He slams whatever book he was reading shut, and turns around so that he's sitting more comfortable. Castiel was never good at reading certain social cues, but he knows that Dean is angry with him. It's best to stay quiet until he knows what he's angry about.

"So Sam tells me you were an angel," Dean begins. It's not what he was expecting to hear. After all, Sam was the one who implored Castiel to keep everything a secret.

"I was." He admits. Any truth that he can provide, he will.

"See, I used to think that angels were a bunch of legends. Stories to help kids sleep at night," He taps the book with his good hand. "But things are a little different now, I guess. This is supposed to be a fuckin' supernatural library, and I found some books on angels. Lemme tell you somethin'- I don't like what I'm reading here, Castiel."

Castiel tightens his jaw. Of course Dean wouldn't like what he's been reading. People, when knowledgeable about angels and what they really are, aren't usually satisfied with what they find.

"Says here that you guys were warriors of god. That you would destroy, and destroy some more if you got the command," Dean continues. "It also says that you took vessels- like a fucking demon. But that's only when you decide to drag your feathery asses down to earth," Castiel decides that he doesn't like what Dean has been reading either.

"I don't appreciate you comparing me to a demon, Dean." He says shortly. It takes him back to the days where he was disrespected, looked down on. For a short second, he misses the vibration of power through his being. "Since you've awoken, I've done nothing but help you, give you space."

"Yeah? And how'd we get to that point? How'd we get to be BFFs? You haven't told me jack shit. How 'm I supposed to know you're not still some angel? Or that you're something completely different?" Dean does not bother to keep quiet any longer. It's likely that Sam has woken up. Hearing his brother talk like this might help him see to reason. This can't go on much longer. "How 'm I supposed to know that you're not manipulating Sam into thinking somethin' else?"

Castiel narrows his eyes and takes a step forward. This isn't the Dean that he met, fresh out of hell, but he still has that suspicion, that mistrust. It's difficult for Castiel to not only know but to see that Dean's life has always been so difficult. That's his problem. No faith. Except now, he has every reason not to have faith in the people around him, and those above.

"Do not accuse me of being a demon ever again," He says lowly. Almost defensively. After all, he has haboured hundreds of Leviathan within him. Sometimes he can still feel the black ooze trudge through his vessel. (Body. It's his now. No hints of Jimmy Novak.) He killed thousands with a righteous attitude. Being called a demon takes him back to the times he'd rather never took place. "I am your friend, Dean. And I have saved you time and time again. As you have saved me."

Dean doesn't believe him.

"Then tell me what the hell brought you down here," Dean has lowered his voice too. He's holding himself back, Castiel can see. Dean wants to hurt him, he can see it in the way his fists shake, and how he's leaning towards him. "Tell me why a myth would come down and stop me from taking a trip to Dante's Inferno."

"Stop you?" The questions slips out before he thinks to ask it. What does Dean mean that he stopped him? That makes no sense. That's not what happened.

Oh.

Oh, that's what Sam told Dean. He should have run along with the lie, he should have improvised. It's too late. Dean has heard the confusion, knows that he's missing yet another piece to his broken memory. He's been fed wrong information from his brother. Castiel has to be very careful. Dean will do something rash if he doesn't do something. But what can he do at this point? As Dean has pointed out, Castiel is by far one of the worst liars. Particularly when Dean is looking him in the eye.

"Yeah. From goin' to hell. S'what Sam said," Dean narrows his eyes and crosses his arms. Is he daring Castiel to call his brother a liar? If only he knew. "Said to ask you why. So why? Explain aaaall about why you did it. C'mon. I'm dying to know. Unless you're calling my brother a liar."

"It was an order," It's safer to stay as close to the truth as possible. (It might trigger a memory. Anything. Is it bad to hope for that?) "From my superior. Things went awry quickly, and I later had to join your forces," So far, it's easy to say all this. His words feel loud, though. Like everyone on earth can hear them, with Sam getting th full wave of betrayal on the highest of frequencies. "There was a war between Heaven and Earth."

The disbelief is still clear on Dean's face, but it's different this time.

"A war? You can't actually expect me to believe that. I mean, why the hell would Heaven go to war against us?" He asks. It seems Dean has forgotten all about Castiel's slip. Good. He's not sure he can explain everything without some assistance. "And what the hell use would I be for it? Why would you guys give a shit?"

This is not revealing a more torturous part of Dean's past, so Sam must understand why he's revealing this. "You were a weapon. Angels do need vessels. But they need… permission. Very few people are vessels. It's in the blood, tracing back to the beginning of time."

Dean scoffs. "So what, I'm a super special vessel, or whatever?"

"Yes." Dean looks at him with wide eyes. Some of that trust must be leaking through his subconscious, because he seems to believe what he's saying. That takes a large weight off his shoulders. "For the archangel Michael. You were to confront his counter part, Lucifer-" Another scoff. "And stop the world from descending into chaos."

It's Sam's responsibility to mention the rest. Castiel is not going to shield him from this. He chose to hide. As he thinks about it, he sees how it can be appealing to keep information from Dean on a more selfish level. He tries not to be bitter about it. Sam is not the first person to hide things from Dean, so Castiel has little room to judge.

"That's… you expect me to believe that? Just on your word?" Dean asks. He takes a step backward and rubs at his neck.

"I realize this is a lot to take in, but-"

"No you don't. You have no idea," He argues. "You've never had your memories fuckin' taken away, then have someone else explain them to you. And let me tell you somethin'. Hearing that you missed out on some big ass destiny makes it even fuckin' worse. It's such bullshit," Dean shakes his head. "You can't make shit like that up, can you? Michael, huh? I'm just some meat suit to an angel?" Dean shakes his head again and smiles.

Castiel is quiet. He wishes that he can see Dean's soul, see the sparks of emotion again. It's hard to read him right now. (It's not the Dean he knows. It's not the Dean he met.)

"I'm not gonna believe shit, though. I wanna hear it from Sam," The smile fades into something of a grimace. "Guess I'm gonna have to wait a long ass time, though." Without another word, Dean slinks away into the kitchen. Castiel shouldn't be so surprised that he's pulling out a beer and taking a swig almost immediately.

He's gone, gone again. Castiel can't get a hold of him, not the way he wants. But he feels that maybe if Dean talks to Sam, it will prompt something. Sam might finally tell Dean everything he deserves to know. If that happens, then Dean will know to trust him.

It… it might never be like it was before. He still can't define what their relationship was, but that's gone away too. He has a shot of starting a new friendship. It's a melancholic feeling, but it's better than defeat.

Sam wakes up to the sound of his phone going off. He groans and rubs a hand over his face. Usually, he wakes up early no problem, but the last couple of days? Well. He thinks he has a good enough reason to sleep in.

"H'llo?" He answers, and blinks blearily.

"Sam." That voice makes him shoot straight up.

"Maya," His expression melts into worry, and he immediately feels the need to explain himself. "Uhm. I'm sorry I didn't call last night. I didn't want-"

"You didn't want Dean to hear. Yeah, I know," He hears a sigh. "I can sorta understand why you wouldn't tell Dean about all that other stuff, but I don't get why you're trying to keep us a secret. You can't pretend to live in that bunker forever. Macy misses you."

Macy is his dog. Maya, his girlfriend. Once upon a time, she used to hunt. When the gates of Hell were closing, she was there. It's not exactly a great meeting, or a story to tell to the kids (should they decide to have any), but it suits them. He's been given the freedom to tell her everything. There's no tiptoeing, or mysterious pasts. It's just them, trying to move on. Their understanding of one another has been great, but lately… it's been a pain in his ass.

"I miss you guys, too," Of course he does. Being here gives him that claustrophobic feeling, like he's stuck in that life again. "But, uh, Dean's still recovering. And I'm not keeping you a secret. I'm just waiting for the right time to tell him. He's vulnerable right now." It sounds like a really shitty excuse when he's explaining it to her.

"Vulnerable. Right. He thought he was going to Hell, right? When he woke up?"

"…Yeah, but-"

"Well he's vulnerable 'cause you haven't explained shit since. It's all too good to be true. I hate to break it to you, sweetie, but things aren't going to get easier if you keep this up," He sighs again. She just doesn't understand. And he's glad that she doesn't. Maya has never been to Hell, has never had those memories hanging over her. If she did, she'd want to protect her family, too. "At least tell him about quitting hunting. Better he finds out before he wants to take on another case. Ease him into the fact that he's had a new partner for a while."

"It's not that easy. He doesn't know Cas like he used to." It's that friendship that kept Dean going after he left, and that was after some long discussions about their family. Sam argued that maybe he wasn't the person Dean was closest to anymore, and that that's okay. Now Sam is the only one that Dean has- and he doesn't even know it yet.

"And he won't until you talk to him. You're not helping yourself here." He can hear her irritation.

"I'll talk to him today. But I'm taking things slow. This has to be thought out," It makes sense in his head. Maybe he's just not cognoscente enough yet to explain it properly. "Really. I'll talk to him. Promise. I'll be home soon."

"The longer you wait, the messier it'll be," She warns. "Just be careful, okay? He is vulnerable, but maybe not as much as you think."

And that's where the conversation starts to annoy him. Sam loves her, but she doesn't know Dean like he does. No one does.

"I know what I'm doing, My," He says. The only two people in the world that he can talk to about this are Cas and Maya, and they both doubt him. It's not exactly encouraging. It's got to be because they don't know what it's like. "Look, just… I'll tell him. I will. But it's got to be in bits and pieces. I didn't tell you everything all in one go, did I?"

She sighs, like she's unsure what to do with him.

"That's different. He's your brother. And these are his damned memories. Your story is yours, and you got a right to tell it at your own pace. But now you're holding onto his, and that's not cool. He's handled his life before, he can do it again."

The conversation doesn't seem to divert from Dean, and it continually makes Sam feel worse.

This is the right thing to do, He says this over and over again, like a mantra. It's the right thing. Dean just needs some time to adjust to everything. It's so different now.

He tells Maya that he loves her, and that he'll see her soon. Then, he hangs up and lets the phone roll out of his hand and onto the bed. His head falls back onto the pillow. What's he going to do? Sam thinks on it for another half an hour before rolling out of bed. It's late for him, almost eight thirty am, so he's going to skip running. Castiel probably went without him anyway.

Sam pulls on a pair on a pair of pants, then heads out to the kitchen. Dean is already up, which makes him pause. Either Dean didn't sleep at all, or he went to bed way early. He doesn't like the thought of his brother doing either. It usually means something is wrong.

"Hey," He greets. The best thing is to act like nothing is wrong with him. Dean has enough to worry about right now, anyway. No need to cause alarm. He gets himself a bowl of cereal (Cheerios), some milk, and the bowl and spoon, then sits down across from Dean.

At first it's kinda quiet, which makes him anxious, but then Dean says, "I didn't know I could make french toast,"

Sam looks at his plate, and yeah, there it is. Looks good, too. Future Dean (he supposes he should call Dean Who Remembers that. The tenses are all mixed up now.) had made cooking a sort of hobby. French toast was supposedly dead easy to make, and from the looks of it, it's delicious. But Dean wasn't eating it.

"Guess there's a whole bunch of shit about me that I don't know. Got new hidden talents, huh?" Dean looks up, and he's got this suspicious glint in his eyes. Uh-oh. Has he been more obvious than previously thought? Jesus. That'll make things twice as difficult to explain if Dean thought he was lying all along. Which he's not. Just withholding the truth. Temporarily.

"Uh, yeah. When we moved in here about a year ago, you decided to pick it up," He almost says again. Dean did some cooking when he was living with Lisa. Grilling, mostly. It seems like a harmless truth, but then he'd have to explain why Dean was living with Lisa and that doesn't seem like such a good place to start. "You got really good at it, too." He spoons some cereal into his mouth.

"I guess I did," Dean forks off a little piece and stares at it for a while. It's kinda funny how he's unsure of his own cooking skills. Sorta sad, too. But Dean seems to learn that yeah, he's good at cooking judging by the face he's making. "Damn. Wonder what else I'm hiding. Whaddya think, Sammy? Do I got any other little gems?"

His words are playful, but he looks serious.

Sam shrugs.

"I mean… you have gotten insanely good at hunting. Better than me, now. Better than anybody. And you're a great tactician. That's always been there, though, you know?"

Dean laughs quietly and nods. "How come you're still huntin'? I thought you were gonna get out of the life once the contract was up. You know... live a normal, apple pie life. That was the dream, dude. So what the Hell?"

The question seems to come out of nowhere. Dean has always been on and off about the hunting life, and whether or not he wants Sam to do it. Each time, he's used emotional manipulation and guilt trips to persuade Sam one way or the other. So this? Yeah. It's new.

"It's uh. Well. Things got mixed up. The hunting world was just crazy for a while. I never found the down time." He sighs. And Dean never let him find it, either.

"So what? No… finishing school?" Dean asks incredulously. It kinda stings to hear all his old dreams throw back at him. This time though, Dean doesn't subconsciously use it as a weapon. "No job? No girl?"

This is it. This is the perfect opportunity to tell Dean about Maya. About his house in the suburbs with a dog and a white picket fence. It's a golden moment, and he should have no trouble telling Dean everything. He shouldn't let it just slip away.

"Nope," He shakes his head. "That life is just far away. Almost impossible along side hunting. You know that."

Dean frowns and looks down at whats left of his french toast. "Yeah," He stabs at the bread and breaks it apart into little pieces. "I know that."

The tense awkward feeling seems to return, and Sam knows that it's his fault. He knows that he should have told Dean about his life. Of course he should have, but the desire to keep Dean safe, to keep him unaware, protect him from hurting is stronger.

Just a little while longer. He'll tell Dean once he gets to know Cas a little better. Then, he'll be comfortable living here on his own with the fallen angel, and he won't have to worry about letting Sam go.


End file.
